


Chapter VI

by rhicola



Series: See You In Hindsight [7]
Category: The Walking Dead
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 05:33:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3316058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhicola/pseuds/rhicola
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Preview of Chapter VII:</p><p>“Easier than it seems,” he commented, passing the bow and the release off to the girl. “The step-by-step thing makes sense once you do it.”</p><p>“Like firing a gun,” Beth mused, remembering how technical it seemed when Rick had explained it to the beginners. The loading and the safety and the cocking and the aiming and the shooting. It all became easy after a few rounds.</p><p>Daryl nodded once and handed her an arrow. He stepped up behind her, gripped her shoulders, and turned her toward one of the targets on a tree trunk. “You’ll want to pick a point to draw to each and every time you pull back,” he added, lifting a finger to her right cheek and stroking just beneath her cheekbone. “Right here. Draw back to there, string straight, left arm straight, left hand loose on full draw. Aim, release.”</p><p>He watched as Beth loaded the arrow, attached the release, and secured the strap by the handle, which she held tightly as she drew the arrow back. She struggled a little, not used to the tension of the string, and relaxed without fully pulling it back. “Relax completely,” Daryl instructed before she could pull back again, his hands instinctively grasping her wrists gently to stop her. “The string can derail if you redraw without releasing completely.”</p><p>“I got it, Daryl,” she argued, pulling her arms out of his grip. She rolled her shoulders back, pulled hard on the string, breathed like he had, and let her finger graze the trigger, releasing the arrow. Like he had done, she paused for a second before dropping the bow. Her arrow missed the target and struck another tree trunk off to the side. “Screw it.”</p></blockquote>





	Chapter VI

Beth had been thinking about the night the farm fell since it happened, even months later when they were still searching for a shelter and battling for their lives every day. She knew most people were too busy fighting for their own lives that night, but she'd shown skill beyond anything that could be chalked up to "natural ability." It had been easy to disguise her training from Daryl while moving around, though that surprised her. They hadn't encountered much where the group even needed her help, and they mostly dismissed her when she did attempt to help. But she also knew when they got the prison, not if, that she would need to have a response when someone questioned her uncanny ability to knife down some walkers. Beth had been planning what she'd say for a while, knowing Daryl was the only person she wanted to train her — but unsure of how he would react to her question.

Once they settled into the cabin, she knew the time had come to step up and ask. After spending the first few weeks cleaning and cooking and helping Lori take care of herself, she was about ready to split her own head open. The months with Daryl, fending for their lives together, trusting each other, every day, it was hard to resume her role as associate den mother. A particularly trying day of Lori flitting around obsessing over house work, and night of no one even caring about the work they did that day because they had much more important things to worry about, like their lives, Beth was ready. She went to bed with Hershel, as they were sharing a room, and stared up at the ceiling until her father's breathing steadied and light snores bubbled from his lips.

Slipping out from between the sheets, she tiptoed out of the room, and down the stairs. Beth tried to be as quiet as possible, but knew she couldn't sneak up on Daryl; mostly she was worried about waking the others. Daryl was sprawled out on the couch, but she could tell he was awake after spending months alone with him, even sleeping next to him on particularly cold nights. But his face was positioned away from her, so she called out a whisper, just to alert him, and even though she knew he heard her coming. "Daryl? You awake?"

“Yeah, always,” he grumbled softly and sat up to look at her. He patted the spot next to him on the couch, inviting her to take a seat. Once she moved around the couch and sat down, Daryl yanked his blanket out from under him and offered her half of it, to join his cornucopia of warmth.

Beth happily accepted the other half of Daryl’s blanket, resisting the urge to just curl up next to his body, knowing they fit together like the last two pieces of a puzzle. Equal parts nervous and excited, admittedly, the conversation was already going better than expected.

“What’s got you up?” he asked.

Crossing her legs underneath her, Beth tried to steady her heart before speaking. “I’ve been thinking about that night on the farm,” she paused and shifted her gaze to the fire, “I could’ve easily died that night if not for you. And I feel like we’re safe here, at least for a little while. I never would’ve asked while we were living day-to-day with only rattling cans to protect us, but now that we’re here. I was-uhm-I was wondering if you could give me a few pointers on protecting myself?”

After staring at the fire for most of her admission, Beth finally looked toward Daryl, to study his face and reaction. “I mean,” she went on to add, realizing how the question might be construed, “I just want to be able to pull my weight, and maybe even protect other people . . .”

“We can do that,” he replied as soon as Beth finished explaining that she not only wanted to protect herself, but the others in the group.

He glanced at Beth with a smile, and then lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “You had gun training at the farm and you’re good with a knife,” he reasoned, alluding to what he’d seen during the farm ambush and while they were on the road. “Maybe we can get you some bow training. Just gotta find a bow.”

“You mean I can’t just borrow yours?” Beth giggled to herself and nudged him playfully in the side with her elbow. “Where would we find one though?”

“Could check Walmart,” Daryl suggested. He turned over under the blanket and leaned against the back of the couch, head resting on the cushion and knees tucked into his chest. “Might find you a compound bow or something. And if not, I’ll let you borrow mine.”

Beth adjusted to face Daryl, pushing herself up with her legs as she peered over his knees. She wobbled a little underneath the softness of the cushions. Placing an arm on Daryl’s knee to balance herself, she rested her chin on that arm and looked him in the eye. “I’m ready to go whenever you are . . . after we both get some sleep of course,” she smiled her trademark thousand-watt smile.

“Thanks, Daryl.” Beth used his knees to push off the couch, and absentmindedly trailed her hand across the tops of his knees when she got to her feet, and went to leave. “See you in the morning,” she murmured quietly, before heading back toward the stairs to the bedroom she shared with her father.

•••

Daryl hadn’t slept much after Beth went back upstairs. Now he was thinking about the coming morning when they’d go on a run together in search of a weapon for her. He liked her company—actually really enjoyed it, so he knew this run wouldn’t be like all the others he’d gone on with Rick and Glenn. But he also knew this run couldn’t only be for a bow, so he’d started a list of what the group might still need:

_\- blankets_

_\- clothes for lori and growing belly_

_\- food_

_\- bow_

_\- arrows_

Later on when Rick’s alarm could be heard from down the hall, Daryl rolled off his couch, folded up his blanket, and headed for the kitchen table. There, he met up with his friend to explain what he and Beth were doing that day and asked him to add things to the list before they headed out for the morning. Leaving the list for Rick, Daryl went upstairs to wake Beth up so that she could get ready.

A gruff voice and light touch jolted Beth from her dream and she was thankful for it. Most nights she dreamt of all the deaths still yet to come in one gory, depressing montage. Waking up to Daryl's face hovering over her was only second to waking up to Daryl's face lying next to her. Daryl left after she was sufficiently awake, and Beth quickly dressed for the run, she had a thin cardigan sweater that would definitely not last her the winter, and made a mental note to grab a jacket while they were at Walmart. She rushed downstairs to catch the last part of Rick and Daryl's conversation.

“Gloves, hats, anything you can find, okay?” Rick said as he handed over the list with a bag of snacks and water for the road. “I’ll probably take T-Dog and Glenn out for more firewood today."

Daryl nodded a few times and glanced over the list before shoving it into his pocket. “Sounds good. We’ll take the Hyundai. Maybe siphon some gas on the way back, too.”

"I'm ready!" Beth butted into the conversation a little too loud and eager, probably. She cleared her throat, "I mean, yeah, we should definitely make sure and get some gas while we're out."

Daryl turned to face Beth and without a single word, he pulled his poncho up over his head and handed it to the girl. “You ain’t going nowhere without something heavier than that,” he commented with a pointed nod to her cardigan. He gave her a smile and then looked back at Rick. “Should be back by dusk.”

And with that, Daryl grabbed the keys to the green SUV and his crossbow before heading out the front door of their cabin with Beth at his heels. “Got a knife and a gun?” he asked as he loaded up the car and climbed into the driver’s seat.

Beth was still blushing from neck to forehead under the weight of his poncho. It smelled like him — a mix of the outdoors and musk that made her heart race. As she took her spot in the passenger seat, she fumbled around the poncho to check that her weapons were secured to her pants.

"Check." She took a deep breath as they headed away from the cabin. "Do you know where the Walmart is?"

Daryl shook his head at her question. “Figured we’d just drive into town,” he started, digging blindly in the backseat for the book of CDs the group had collected over the few months they’d been on the road, “go from there. Here, put a disc in. I can’t drive in silence.”

After handing the CDs over to Beth, Daryl focused back on the empty road with both hands on the wheel. “How’d you sleep last night?” he asked.

Flipping through the CDs contemplatively, she opened her mouth to answer Daryl before closing it again. She'd almost told him about her dream. Instead, "Daddy snores, and tosses around in his sleep more than he used to." She shrugged as she found a Brad Paisley CD and stuck it into the slot. The country twang filled the car and Beth smiled. "How did you sleep?"

“I didn’t,” Daryl answered truthfully, yawning as if to prove it to her. “I couldn’t. Mind kept going. That couch isn’t the most comfortable couch either. I’ve slept on concrete floors with more support than that thing.”

Beth frowned. She wished she could kick her father out of the bed and share one with Daryl, as much as a pipe dream as that was. “Maybe we should start swapping out who sleeps on the couch? We wouldn’t want you getting too exhausted to use that bow of yours.”

He chuckled quietly and shook his head. And she let it go, choosing to stare out the window instead. As trees whirled past them, Beth spotted a familiar structure. She had to keep herself from bouncing in her seat when she saw the prison. “Hey Daryl, look at that,” she pointed toward his side of the road.

“Looks like a prison,” Daryl said with a tone that suggested he had no idea where she was going with this.

“I bet that would be a safe place, somewhere we could set up for good.”

“Bet it’s overrun with walkers,” Daryl responded gruffly.

Beth shook her head in disagreement. “It would be a great place for Lori to have the baby. I’m gonna mention it to Rick when we get back.”

•••

Sometime later, they pulled into the parking lot of a Walmart and Beth scanned the lanes and really took in how desolate it was. There hadn't been one in her town, but she'd seen the way the lots were always packed driving through other towns, and even the mom and pop grocery store she grew up with was always busy. A few walkers lingered on the edges of the lot, but Daryl drove straight to the front door and parked, since there wasn't really a reason to follow the painted lanes.

They stepped out and, with no immediate danger in sight, knocked on the glass doors, waiting a few beats for the sound of rustling feet and, hearing none, entered the store. The smell of rotten meat filled her nose and she gagged, but it was different from the stench of walkers. It was more like the deli aisle had been left to rot after the generators died. As they made their way toward the back where the hunting gear would be, they stopped at the clothes section and grabbed wintery things for both the men and women of their group. Daryl filled a bag with random clothing while Beth went ahead of him to pick things out for each person. She was particular about it, giving each item to a specific person before handing them off to him to stuff into his bag — a scarf for Maggie because she’d love it, and a pair of sweatpants for Lori because they were large and drawstring. Beth spotted the baby section, and immediately saw a cute onesie that said, "Daddy's little hunter," and smiled as she picked it up, turning toward Daryl. "Wouldn't this be cute for Rick and the baby?"

He smiled and nodded before stuffing it into the bag as well. As the two rounded a corner, they finally found the hunting section, which was thinned out dramatically. Almost nothing littered the shelves besides useless equipment created for high class hunters.

“Damn,” Daryl commented, turning down the first aisle that once had fishing rods and lures. “Hope we find a bow. Hope people thought they’d be useless in this shit.” At the end of the aisle, a container full of arrows sat at the bottom of a shelf, left untouched. “Boo ya! C’mere, Beth.”

As the girl approached, he motioned for her to turn around so that he could pack her bag full of arrows, as many as he could fit into it because they needed all they could carry. “Now, we just need a bow and a quiver for you.”

With her back turned to the man, her face screwed in confusion. “A quiver?” she asked toward the empty aisle, taking it in, thinking about all of the other people who had come through this same place and looted everything. She wondered if those people had made it, if they had been able to put their findings to good use. “I don’t know much about bows, Daryl,” she added quickly. When Daryl had trained her before, there was never much hope that they’d happen upon a second bow, that she would need her own supplies. Hell, most of the time he’d had to cock it back for her to shoot.

The familiar shuffling and gurgling of the undead drowned out his response, and they were both at attention instantaneously. A gaggle of walkers came around the corner, no more than five. Before Beth could even unsheathe her knife, Daryl took out two of the farther ones with one arrow. Beth went toward the closest walker, put her hand on its chest and drilled her knife into its skull. Together, they defeated the last few.

They paused for a moment after taking out the walkers, waiting and listening to see if there were more to come. When Daryl determined that they were alone again, he went back to his explanation. “Just holds the arrows,” he muttered and showed her the one attached to his own bow, “they come like this or the one you can strap to your back.”

Walking forward, he stepped over the dead walkers, yanked his arrow out of one, and peered around the end of the aisle before continuing on to the next one. He walked nonchalantly, a small bounce in his step as he window-shopped through the empty shelves. Humming three notes, he swayed back and forth and rounded another corner, causing Beth to stop dead in her tracks when the first three notes came from his lips. Her heart stopped as quickly as her footsteps and the breath she had been taking hitched in her throat.

How could he possibly know that song? It was her song? Beth convinced herself it was her imagination, and he'd been humming something else, when he started actually singing the lyrics. “Beer to shotgun,” Daryl sang quietly and off-key before going back to humming. “We’ll be good…HELL YEAH!” He cut himself off as he spotted a small compound bow hanging on a shelf. “Perfect size for you, Beth.”

As he handed her the bow, she didn't even look at it, it felt natural in her hands but her eyes were locked on the man in front of her, oblivious of how he had just knocked her understanding of the world off kilter. "How-how do you know that song?" she asked, ignoring his excitement over the bow.

He responded by lifting his shoulders. “On the radio or somethin’. S’all I know of it, why?” he asked.

"It's nothing," she mumbled under her breath, but found that she couldn't look at him, she didn't know what to say or how to say it, and so she turned her attention to the bow. She played with its weight in her hands and turned away from Daryl. It felt as natural as her knife, and with her small knowledge of having used Daryl's a few times, she was able to cock it herself, without an arrow in it of course, and looked through the sight. "And we'll buy a beer to shotgun, and we'll lay in the lawn, and we'll be good," she sang quietly under her breath as she practiced pulling the string of the bow back and forth, and aiming with it.

“Yeah! That’s it, that’s the song,” Daryl half-exclaimed. “Probably heard it on the radio; I had one of those, you know? I ain’t completely feral,” the man laughed lightly, but Beth mostly ignored him.

She let out a deep breath, and turned on her heel. "It's perfect,” she said of the bow.“Did we need to get anything else?"

Daryl pulled out the list he and Rick put together. “We should grab some blankets and what we can of food,” he said before crumpling the paper and tossing it to the ground, “canned goods or something. Can’t live off deer meat forever, especially now. It’s gettin’ too damn cold to be out there hunting.”

Daryl loaded his crossbow, slipped his bag over his shoulder, and continued down the aisle in search of a back quiver for Beth. “Once we got that shit, we can go.”

•••

Beth had mostly kept to herself as they searched the rest of the store, grabbing more supplies for the group, and headed back toward the car. She was lost in her own thoughts. How could he possibly know that song unless he remembered too? But he seemed so oblivious, like he actually didn’t know where that song came from. It was all just too much for Beth, and she leaned her head on the window of the car for most of the ride home.

As they reached the cabin, Beth had already gotten the supplies she could carry together. She was out of the car before Daryl could even attempt to collect his things. She turned to look at him before closing the door.

“I wrote that song you were singing earlier, by the way, Daryl,” she said calmly, before heading toward the cabin, leaving the man stunned silent in her wake.

**Author's Note:**

> Preview of Chapter VII:
> 
> “Easier than it seems,” he commented, passing the bow and the release off to the girl. “The step-by-step thing makes sense once you do it.”
> 
> “Like firing a gun,” Beth mused, remembering how technical it seemed when Rick had explained it to the beginners. The loading and the safety and the cocking and the aiming and the shooting. It all became easy after a few rounds.
> 
> Daryl nodded once and handed her an arrow. He stepped up behind her, gripped her shoulders, and turned her toward one of the targets on a tree trunk. “You’ll want to pick a point to draw to each and every time you pull back,” he added, lifting a finger to her right cheek and stroking just beneath her cheekbone. “Right here. Draw back to there, string straight, left arm straight, left hand loose on full draw. Aim, release.”
> 
> He watched as Beth loaded the arrow, attached the release, and secured the strap by the handle, which she held tightly as she drew the arrow back. She struggled a little, not used to the tension of the string, and relaxed without fully pulling it back. “Relax completely,” Daryl instructed before she could pull back again, his hands instinctively grasping her wrists gently to stop her. “The string can derail if you redraw without releasing completely.”
> 
> “I got it, Daryl,” she argued, pulling her arms out of his grip. She rolled her shoulders back, pulled hard on the string, breathed like he had, and let her finger graze the trigger, releasing the arrow. Like he had done, she paused for a second before dropping the bow. Her arrow missed the target and struck another tree trunk off to the side. “Screw it.”


End file.
